


White Crayon

by skywalkersamidala



Category: I Medici | Medici: Masters of Florence (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Childhood Friends, Family, Fluff, Humor, M/M, One Shot, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:00:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28388157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skywalkersamidala/pseuds/skywalkersamidala
Summary: Keeping a relationship secret is hard when you have eight nosy siblings. (In which the author returns Francesco’s historical six sisters and additional brother to him.)
Relationships: Lorenzo "Il Magnifico" de' Medici/Francesco de' Pazzi
Comments: 6
Kudos: 39





	White Crayon

**Author's Note:**

> Blessed fact: Francesco and Guglielmo had 6 sisters (+ 1 extra brother) irl!! I learned this like a year and a half ago, completely forgot about it, then re-remembered it recently and was like I MUST write a fic with this premise. The three boys have their historically accurate age differences, but we don’t have birth years for the girls, so I made educated guesses based on their marriage years (or, for the two whose marriage years we don’t have, threw them in randomly in a big gap between siblings). I will be a good little historian and cite the sources I used if you’re curious:  
> http://www.genmarenostrum.com/pagine-lettere/letterap/de'%20Pazzi/PAZZI4.htm  
> http://jean.gallian.free.fr/comm2/Images/genealog/pazzi/Pazzi%20de%20Florence%20Bouyer.pdf
> 
> Title + part of Francesco and Lorenzo’s childhood reminiscing was inspired by Pinguini Tattici Nucleari’s “Pastello Bianco” which is THE modern au Lorenzo/Francesco song in my eyes

“Listen up,” Guglielmo said with uncharacteristic sternness as the nine Pazzi siblings stood gathered in front of Lucrezia Tornabuoni’s house. “I know I don’t have to remind you that the people in there are about to become my in-laws, which means that if any of you embarrasses me tonight, or embarrasses yourselves, or starts a fight, or anything like that, I’ll…”

“You’ll what? Kill us?” Caterina scoffed.

“I’ll—I’ll be very unhappy with you,” Guglielmo said, which by his standards was a pretty serious threat. “I know the odds of not a single one of you doing anything you shouldn’t are slim to none, but just…try to be decently civilized, okay?”

“Of course we will, Gu,” Elisabetta soothed him. “We’re all adults, or just about.” Maddalena, the youngest, was seventeen. “We can behave ourselves for one night.”

“No, we totally can’t. It’s going to be a disaster,” Giovanni said gleefully.

“Not on my watch,” Camilla said, leveling her best intimidating glare at them. “Guglielmo is a saint who’s raised you little bastards for half your lives, so if anyone does anything to ruin this for him, I will kick your ass into next Tuesday. Got it?” Vague mumbles of assent. “I _said,_ got it?!”

“Got it,” the other seven chorused obediently.

“I’ll supervise Francesco to make sure he doesn’t fight Giuliano,” Antonia volunteered.

“Ugh!” Francesco said at the reminder that Giuliano was going to be there. “If that asshole so much as _looks_ at me, I’m going to kill him.”

“No, Francesco!” Antonia and Elisabetta cried.

“Yes, Francesco!” Giovanni, Caterina, and Maddalena said excitedly.

Celesta said nothing, as usual. Camilla was wearing an expression that said she would absolutely condone Francesco killing Giuliano if Guglielmo’s happiness wasn’t contingent upon him not doing so.

Guglielmo, meanwhile, looked exhausted. “I should’ve told Lucrezia you’d all moved to Australia and couldn’t make it,” he said. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

He led the way up the front walk to the door, and within a minute, they were all right in the belly of the beast.

The beast being the Medici home, which Francesco hadn’t set foot in since age seven. New Year’s Eve, and his parents and Lucrezia and Piero were all going to the same party, so all eight Pazzi and three Medici kids had had a sleepover at the Medici’s house, with Contessina supervising.

They were supposed to sleep late and wake up the next morning to celebrate Lorenzo’s birthday. Instead, Contessina had gently woken them in the middle of the night, tears in her eyes and her voice shaking when she told them their parents were dead.

A car accident on their way home, a drunk driver no doubt on the way to or from his own New Year’s celebrations. If they hadn’t left the party so early, they’d still be alive. Antonio hadn’t wanted to go at all because Nicolosa had been nine months pregnant with Maddalena and he’d worried it would tire her out too much, but she’d insisted she had the energy to have fun with their friends for an hour or two before coming home for a blessedly quiet night’s sleep with all the kids out of the house.

(Francesco had been standing closest to her during this conversation and she’d playfully covered his ears as she said it, as if not wanting to hurt his feelings. It was the last touch he’d ever gotten from her.)

The doctors had had to cut Maddalena out; it was a miracle she’d survived, though one which Francesco hadn’t fully appreciated until he was older. He remembered Lucrezia, Piero, and Contessina shepherding all of them down the hall to the hospital nursery and pointing out their new sister through the window, but all Francesco could think about was how he’d rather have his parents here than some dumb baby.

Lorenzo’s tight hold on his hand had been the only thing keeping Francesco anchored through the unreal fog of that day. But then Francesco had let go of him and drowned.

Frowning, Francesco tried to push these memories aside as Guglielmo escorted them into the living room, where the Medici and the engagement party’s other guests were all gathered. Everyone started exclaiming greetings and congratulations when they saw Guglielmo, but Francesco wasn’t listening because his eyes had been drawn to the exact spot in the corner of the room where he’d slept that night, him and Lorenzo a little apart from the others and snuggled under a blanket together.

Sometimes he wondered if Maddalena, or Celesta who’d only been four, were luckier not to remember their parents at all.

All this brooding meant that Francesco was absolutely not in the mood for Giuliano’s infuriating face appearing in front of him and saying, “I still can’t believe my mom is letting the devil himself set foot in our home.”

“Don’t be an ass,” scolded Bianca, following behind him. “Welcome, all of you, I’m so glad everyone could make it!”

She kissed Guglielmo enthusiastically in greeting and looped her arm through his, and Francesco’s bad humor eased a little bit when he saw the happiness practically radiating off his brother. With great effort, he refrained from punching Giuliano and instead turned to the third person who was approaching them.

Lorenzo, Francesco realized, his heart skipping a beat. They’d attended different _licei_ and Francesco hadn’t seen him since they were fourteen, but he’d recognize those blue eyes anywhere. Lorenzo was what felt like twice as tall as he had been the last time Francesco had seen him, and muscular and broad-shouldered with a blinding smile and angelic brown curls and oh God, adult Lorenzo was _hot._

Francesco’s brain simply was not capable of processing that information at the current time, so when Lorenzo met his eyes and smiled wider, Francesco quickly looked away to where Guglielmo was reintroducing everybody. “Bianca knows them all, of course, but Lorenzo and Giuliano, you might not remember everyone,” he said. “It really has been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“Too long,” Lorenzo said, and of course he just had to have a nice voice too, didn’t he? Francesco could feel his eyes still on him, but he determinedly kept his own on Guglielmo.

“So, this is Camilla, she’s thirty now, and Giovanni, twenty-nine,” Guglielmo was saying, pointing at them each in turn. “Caterina and Elisabetta, twenty-six, Francesco, twenty-four, Antonia, twenty-three, Celesta, twenty-one, and Maddalena, seventeen.”

“It’s so great to see you all,” Lorenzo said. “I’m Lorenzo and that’s Giuliano, some of you probably don’t remember us.” He turned his smile on Maddalena. “You were only a baby the last time I saw you.”

Maddalena blushed and smiled shyly back at him, and Francesco stifled a groan. Just what he needed, his baby sister getting a crush on Lorenzo de’ fucking Medici.

“Speaking of the last times people saw each other,” Giuliano said. “The last time I saw Francesco, I was getting beat up four on one. Anything to say about that?”

“Nope,” Francesco said. “Just that I’d do it again right now if it wasn’t our siblings’ engagement party.”

Giuliano waved an exasperated hand at him. “You see? He’s not even trying to be civil,” he said. “Poor little fourteen-year-old me getting cornered on my way home from school by a group of seventeen-year-olds and—”

“Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you asked Celesta out as a _joke_ and made fun of her in front of your entire class,” Francesco said coldly. It wouldn’t have been quite as bad if it had been any of his other siblings, but Celesta, the shyest, kindest, most timid of them all—thinking about her getting humiliated so cruelly still made Francesco see red to this day.

Bianca whipped her head around to stare at Giuliano. “You did _what?!”_ she demanded. “You always conveniently left _that_ part out of the story!”

“It wasn’t my fault, Roberto Cavalcanti dared me to! And I wasn’t trying to be mean, I was—ow!” Giuliano yelped; Bianca had smacked him upside the head.

“You little shit!” she exclaimed. “To think you had us feeling sorry for you for all these years! I take back everything I’ve ever said about Francesco, you deserved everything he did and worse.”

_“Thank_ you,” Francesco said smugly.

“Hey, Celesta—which one are you? There you are,” Giuliano said when Bianca pointed to her. “For the record, I’m really sorry about that. I was such a dick. But I swear I didn’t have any malicious intentions, just stupid ones. I only saw it as a harmless prank and I didn’t realize it would hurt your feelings. I mean, looking back it’s pretty obvious, but I was a massive idiot at fourteen.”

“Like you aren’t still a massive idiot,” Lorenzo said, and Francesco bit his lip to hide a grin. Lorenzo glanced sideways at him and openly grinned himself, and Francesco felt a surprisingly welcome sense of companionship with his old friend, just for the second before Francesco broke eye contact again.

Celesta had spent the entire exchange looking like she was hoping the floor would open up and swallow her. “It’s fine,” she mumbled to her shoes. “It was just a stupid little thing, I shouldn’t have told Francesco.”

“Yes, you should’ve,” Caterina said, giving Giuliano a distasteful look. “And he’d better be grateful it was Francesco you told and not Camilla.”

Giuliano glanced over at Camilla, six feet tall and glowering at him in a leather jacket and combat boots, and he gulped. “Definitely.”

Just then Bianca and Guglielmo were flagged down by some of the other guests, and Giuliano wandered back to his friends soon afterwards. Francesco could tell Lorenzo was trying to find an opening to talk to him, so he wedged himself safely in the middle of his siblings and eventually Lorenzo gave up and left too. Lucrezia ushered Maddalena over to meet some of Bianca’s teenage cousins, and Elisabetta quickly vanished to God knew where with God knew who; she’d always had a weird ability to become best friends with someone just by breathing in their direction.

But she came back with Guglielmo half an hour later to find the other six exactly where they’d left them, in an awkward huddle on the edge of the room avoiding everyone else. “What are you doing? You look like idiots,” Guglielmo said exasperatedly.

“Go, mingle. Be social,” Elisabetta said, trying to physically shoo them away. “Stop looking like a group of—of depressing bats lurking around and creeping everyone out.”

“I wish I _was_ a bat,” Caterina said mournfully. “Then I could fly out of this nightmare.”

Elisabetta grabbed her twin by one hand and Antonia by the other and dragged them away, and Guglielmo escorted Celesta over (rather forcibly) to join Maddalena and the younger cousins. “Wanna see who can get drunk the fastest?” Giovanni said to the remaining two. “Hopefully the Medici aren’t too cheap to serve alcohol at this thing.”

Camilla opened her mouth either to agree or scold him—both seemed equally likely—but was interrupted by Francesco darting behind them and hissing, “Shit, hide me, quick.”

“Why?”

“Lorenzo’s coming over, it’s like he’s been waiting for everyone to clear out so he could pounce on me.”

“Good,” Camilla said. “The sooner you two finally work out all your stupid issues I’ve had to spend seventeen years hearing about, and the sooner I can stop hearing about them, the better.”

“I don’t talk about Lorenzo that much,” Francesco said, offended.

“Amazing,” Giovanni said. “No self-awareness whatsoever.”

“Oh, fuck off—”

“Hey, Francesco,” Lorenzo was saying much too soon. “Are you…hiding from me?”

“No,” Francesco said from where he was half-crouched behind Giovanni and Camilla.

“Idiot,” Camilla said. “I’ll take that drink now, Giovanni.”

“Wait—” Francesco protested, but they were already crossing the room, turning back to smirk at him behind Lorenzo’s back. Traitorous bastards.

He had no choice but to meet Lorenzo’s eyes. Lorenzo was smiling at him. He had an unfairly pretty smile. “Are you enjoying the party?” he asked.

Francesco shrugged. “Too many people.”

“You never did like big social events,” Lorenzo remarked with an ease and familiarity that made Francesco’s heart hurt.

Again he found himself looking at that spot they’d slept in. The two of them had never managed to stay up until midnight on New Year’s before, and they’d sworn that this would be their year. They’d laid facing each other all night with Lorenzo’s watch between them, poking each other when one of them started to doze off, whispering and giggling and making Guglielmo and Bianca wearily scold them a dozen times to go to sleep.

When the watch had finally ticked midnight, Francesco had smiled excitedly at Lorenzo, who’d beamed right back at him. _Happy birthday!_ Francesco had whispered. _Is it cool being eight?_

_I wasn’t born ’til the afternoon, I’m not eight yet,_ Lorenzo had reminded him. Then he’d leaned in and given him a little peck on the cheek, startling Francesco and making him blush.

_What was that for?_ he’d asked.

_Mamma says you’re supposed to kiss someone you love at midnight on New Year’s,_ Lorenzo had said matter-of-factly.

Francesco had finally let himself fall asleep shortly afterwards, feeling warm and cozy and content. It was the last truly restful few hours of sleep he’d had for months, if not years.

In all honesty, it might’ve been the last time he’d been truly happy at all.

“Francesco?” Lorenzo said now, bringing him out of his thoughts. “You look like you’re on another planet.”

Francesco’s eyes darted back to him. “Sorry,” he said. “I was just…thinking. I didn’t realize how many memories I have associated with this room.”

Lorenzo’s expression softened into one of understanding; clearly Francesco didn’t need to specify which memories. After all, that night had been a turning point for Lorenzo too. Within a week, he was showing up to Jacopo’s house asking to play with Francesco, and Francesco was shoving him to the floor and screaming that he hated him.

“Want to go somewhere else? It’s so loud in here, I can barely hear myself think,” Lorenzo said. “And I want to be able to really talk to you, Francesco. Properly. I’ve wanted that for a long time.”

Objectively Francesco knew that whatever conversation (monologue, more like) Lorenzo had planned would be a nightmare, but for some reason, he found himself agreeing and following him upstairs.

They took the familiar path to Lorenzo’s room, but when they went inside, it was decorated differently than Francesco remembered. The walls were a neutral light gray; they used to be blindingly blue. “It must’ve taken a lot of coats of paint to cover up that blue,” he said without thinking.

Lorenzo looked surprised for a second, but then he smiled. “Yes, it did. My mom made me do it all myself to teach me a lesson about painting my room stupid colors,” he said, and Francesco almost smiled too.

Lorenzo took a seat on the twin bed, but Francesco felt uncomfortable at the thought of sitting beside him, so instead he wandered around the room and examined it in more detail. There were two overflowing bookcases and dozens more stray books covering half the floor in haphazard stacks. Typical Lorenzo.

“Do you still live here?” Francesco asked, coming to a halt at the desk, which looked unusable due to all the clutter and childhood memorabilia piled on top of it.

“No, I’ve got an apartment,” Lorenzo said. “You?”

Francesco glanced back in time to see him wince, as if he was realizing Francesco didn’t exactly have a happy childhood home he might still want to live in as an adult. Or even an unhappy one, seeing as Jacopo had died a few months ago.

But Francesco didn’t take offense. “Yeah, I have my own place too,” he said. “Maddalena lives with me because I’m the only one who fills all three criteria of being close to her school, having a spare bedroom, and not having any roommates or significant others she would bother.”

“How is it living alone with a teenager?”

“She calls everything I do cringey, but other than that it’s fine,” Francesco said.

Lorenzo laughed and started saying something else, but Francesco was distracted by the glimpse of a familiar-looking card underneath a stack of papers on the desk. He pulled it out and sure enough, it was the one. A bright yellow card with a cake and candles painstakingly cut out of different-colored paper and glued on the front, and inside, written in alternating red and blue letters, _Happy 7 th birthday Lorenzo! Love, your best friend Francesco, _and a little drawing of the two of them together.

Francesco had agonized over that card, wanting it to be perfect. Camilla, Giovanni, and Caterina had found him at it and teased him so much about having a crush on Lorenzo that he’d started to cry and had ripped up the card, at which point their mother had come in to see what the commotion was about, scolded the others, and then dried Francesco’s tears and sat down with him to help him make Lorenzo a second, even better card.

_What if Lorenzo thinks it’s stupid?_ Francesco had said, still sniffling.

_Of course he won’t. He’ll love it,_ Nicolosa had assured him. _He’s so lucky to have a friend like you._

And indeed, the next day at Lorenzo’s birthday party when Francesco had shyly presented the card along with his gift, Lorenzo had beamed and thrown his arms around him and declared he was going to keep it forever and ever.

Apparently he’d meant it. “Are you serious? You still have this?” Francesco said. He wanted to laugh at Lorenzo’s sentimentality, but there was a lump in his throat.

“Of course I do. That’s a kickass card,” Lorenzo joked. Then more softly he added, “And it was the last one you ever gave me.”

Francesco took a few deep breaths in and out, trying to will away the tears he felt burning his eyes. “I had one for you in my overnight bag,” he said. “I was going to give it to you in the morning, but…”

“Oh,” Lorenzo said. Francesco’s back was to him, but he could hear a little wobble in his voice too.

Francesco took a risk and quickly wiped his eyes, hoping Lorenzo wouldn’t notice. “I like that I specified ‘your best friend Francesco,’” he said, trying to lighten the mood as he turned back to look at him. “As if I thought you needed the clarification.”

Lorenzo laughed. “To be fair, there were a fuckton of Francescoes in our class who were probably all invited to the party,” he said. “I still would’ve recognized your handwriting, though.”

Francesco glanced back down at the card. “I’m not sure that can be called handwriting.”

Lorenzo laughed again, and Francesco realized he liked making him laugh.

“I’m going to run to the bathroom,” Lorenzo said, getting to his feet. “Feel free to keep poking around, there’s enough crap there to keep you entertained for years. And then we’ll talk?”

Francesco should’ve said no. He should’ve gone back downstairs and left this house and left Lorenzo because the past was the past, it was too late, he couldn’t fix what he’d broken, and dwelling on it now would do nothing but hurt him even more. But instead he just nodded and made no move to sneak away after Lorenzo left the room.

Francesco went to put the card down and smiled slightly as he recognized the notebook next to it. He wouldn’t have thought he’d remember all these things from seventeen years ago so vividly, but as soon as he saw the cover (a photo of Florence’s dome) it was like he was seven again, sitting next to Lorenzo in class and passing notes back and forth. They would write in white crayon and then color over it with marker to reveal the message, which they’d thought was the cleverest idea ever.

Francesco absentmindedly flipped through the notebook, smiling at their “secret” notes, which were mostly along the lines of _I’m bored_ and _I had fun playing at your house yesterday!_ He turned to the next page and saw that there were no more notes, just Lorenzo’s schoolwork. He glanced at the date: January eighth. After their fight, probably.

Francesco did a quick flip through the rest of the pages checking for notes he knew weren’t there. He was about to close the notebook and put it back when his fingers brushed across the last page and he felt a crayon-y texture. He stared down at it for a moment, and then on an impulse he grabbed a stray marker off Lorenzo’s desk and started coloring the page. Sure enough, letters began to appear.

_I miss you._

One last message. The only one Francesco had never colored over to read. Francesco remembered it suddenly, he remembered Lorenzo timidly sliding the notebook over to him on the last day of school that year, like he always used to, but Francesco had shoved it right back at him without even looking.

In the past few months since Jacopo’s death, now that he was no longer around whispering poison in Francesco’s ear and turning his head around and making him think lies were the truth and the truth was lies, Francesco had started becoming able to see with more clarity all the ways in which his uncle had fucked his life up. Fucked _him_ up. And this, turning him against the best friend he’d ever had, someone who’d never done anything but love him—this was by far the worst.

God, _why_ had it taken him seventeen years to see that?

“Francesco? Are you okay?”

Francesco hadn’t heard Lorenzo’s footsteps coming back, and as he looked up and saw him standing in the doorway watching him in concern, he realized he could feel tears on his cheeks. Without a word, Francesco set the notebook down, crossed the room, and wrapped his arms around Lorenzo.

Lorenzo let out a startled breath, but he immediately returned the hug before Francesco even had time to second-guess himself. “I’ve been such a fucking idiot,” Francesco said, voice muffled in Lorenzo’s shoulder.

“What do you mean?” Lorenzo asked.

“I shouldn’t have listened to my uncle. I shouldn’t have pushed you away,” he said. “I’d already lost my parents and my home, I don’t know why I forced myself to lose my best friend too. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

He was fully crying now, audible sobs that shook his body, and Lorenzo held him tightly and pressed his cheek against his. “You never have to apologize to me, Francesco,” Lorenzo said. “You’re my best friend.”

Francesco finally lifted his head. “You mean you forgive me?” he said, unable to believe it. “After everything I’ve done to you, all the horrible things I’ve said—”

“You’re my best friend,” Lorenzo repeated steadily, smiling at him even though his eyes looked a little wet too. “There’s never been a single day where I haven’t still loved you, not for all these years. Of course I forgive you. Can you forgive me for not trying harder to be there for you?”

“You tried plenty hard, and I kept rejecting you,” Francesco said. “It’s not your fault.”

Lorenzo rested a gentle hand on his face, wiping tears away with his thumb. “This is exactly the conversation I was hoping to have with you tonight, so thanks for doing all the work for me,” he said, his tone light and teasing again. “If I’d known all it would take to make you stop being mad at me was showing you our childhood memories, I would’ve kidnapped you and brought you here years ago.”

Francesco laughed, and so did Lorenzo. It felt so _good_ to laugh with him again, like regaining a little bit of that childhood happiness he’d taken for granted until it was gone.

They sat together on Lorenzo’s old bed and talked for almost an hour, catching each other up on the last seventeen years, until they heard shouting downstairs and realized they were still in the middle of a party. They jumped to their feet and hurried down to see what was happening.

The buffet table was overturned, and Camilla, Giovanni, and Caterina were in the middle of the room with Giuliano and some of his friends, all of them covered in bits of food. Elisabetta and Celesta were restraining a livid-looking Camilla, but Giovanni and Caterina were both grinning, like they’d gotten involved in whatever fight had broken out purely for the fun of it. Maddalena was standing a safe distance away with her phone out, filming everything.

Antonia was near the bottom of the stairs, so Francesco and Lorenzo went over to her. “What the hell happened?” Francesco asked underneath Lucrezia and Elisabetta shouting at their various relatives.

“Giuliano spilled wine on Camilla’s jacket,” Antonia said. “He _claims_ it was an accident.”

“I’m sure it was,” Lorenzo said. “Even Giuliano isn’t enough of an idiot to antagonize Camilla on purpose.”

Francesco turned back to survey the chaos. “Spilled wine led to _this?”_

“Does that surprise you?” Antonia asked.

“Not as much as it should,” Francesco admitted.

“Where were you anyway?” Antonia said, looking puzzled. “I was surprised not to see you right in the middle of the fight. Where have _both_ of you been, actually?”

“We were upstairs talking,” Lorenzo said. “We had a lot to catch up on.”

He gave Francesco a small, confidential sort of smile, and Francesco smiled back, feeling his face heat up, for some reason. Then Lorenzo brushed his hand against his and laced their fingers together. It was an entirely casual and friendly gesture, something they used to do all the time as kids, but Francesco felt himself blushing even harder.

Fortunately, Antonia had already turned her attention back to the scene in the middle of the room and didn’t notice.

“So Camilla, are you going to kick your own ass into next Tuesday?” Caterina was saying, still looking highly amused by it all.

Camilla glared at her. “Don’t you start with me!”

“Are you still sure you want to marry into this family?” Francesco heard Guglielmo asking Bianca a few feet away.

“I was about to ask you the same thing about mine,” she replied.

* * *

**1 year later, December 31 st**

Francesco knew Lorenzo would rather be at a big, wild party tonight, but he’d invited Francesco to hang out just the two of them because he knew that was what Francesco would prefer. He was always doing that, taking such care with Francesco’s comfort and happiness in a way even Francesco’s siblings had never quite done because each of them had so many other siblings to look out for too, they couldn’t prioritize him specifically. But Lorenzo always treated him like his top priority, and some selfish part of Francesco had craved that more than he’d realized. Being someone’s number one person.

“Happy birthday,” Francesco said, smiling at him as they sat on the couch together watching the countdown.

Lorenzo smiled back. “Happy New Year,” he replied. He took a deep breath, looking more nervous than Francesco had ever seen him, and then he leaned in closer. “You know…my mom says you’re supposed to kiss someone you love at midnight on New Year’s.”

Francesco’s heart was lodged somewhere in his throat, and when Lorenzo softly pressed his lips against his, it was like the last tendrils of the fog that had surrounded him for eighteen years finally lifted.

“How long have you been planning that line?” Francesco asked when they drew apart.

“Pretty much since our siblings’ engagement party,” Lorenzo said sheepishly, and Francesco laughed and kissed him again.

* * *

**January**

“We should really get back,” Francesco said halfheartedly, not even trying to move from where Lorenzo had him pushed up against the wall. “People will start to notice.”

Lorenzo kissed him yet again. “Let them,” he said as he started to trail hot, messy kisses down Francesco’s neck to his collarbone. “I’m not done with you yet.”

“What are you going to do, fuck me in the hallway ten feet away from our siblings’ baby shower?”

“If you keep tempting me, I just might,” Lorenzo murmured against his skin.

There was a sudden loud burst of laughter from the party in the living room, and Francesco started and threw a nervous glance down the hall. “Seriously,” he said. “Anyone could walk out and see us at any second.”

Lorenzo just chuckled. “You worry too much,” he said, returning to his lips to keep kissing him. Francesco felt his worries melting under Lorenzo’s mouth, as they always did.

They’d been dating for a whole month now, and things were perfect. Except for one small snag: no one knew they were together because, small snag number two, Lorenzo was the only person in the entire world who knew Francesco was bi.

Lorenzo himself had been out for years and his family was all fine with it, but Francesco still hadn’t managed to work up the guts to tell his own siblings. It was ridiculous because he _knew_ they’d be supportive, but it was still an overwhelming prospect. There were just so _many_ of them, he hated the thought of sitting them all down for the talk and having all eight pairs of eyes lasering in on him as he shared this deepest, most personal part of himself. (Telling them separately was out of the question because whoever he told first would go blabbing to the others, who’d be indignant they _hadn’t_ been told first.)

So he and Lorenzo were keeping their relationship a secret for now. Francesco knew they couldn’t stay in this bubble forever, but it was a really nice bubble, and he was in no hurry to leave it.

(He didn’t _like_ hiding such an important part of his life from his siblings, no. But every time he thought ahead to the day he inevitably had to tell them the truth, he felt like he was going to throw up.)

Francesco heard footsteps, and he shoved Lorenzo away from him just in time as Giuliano turned into the hallway. He stopped short when he saw them. “What are you guys doing out here?” he said.

“Um,” Francesco said, his stomach in knots.

But Lorenzo gave him an easy grin and said, “We were getting bored of all those baby shower games, we decided to sneak out for a few minutes.”

To Francesco’s relief, Giuliano made a face and said, “Yeah, I can’t blame you,” and then continued on his way to the bathroom without further interrogation.

Lorenzo reached for Francesco again as soon as he was gone, but Francesco ducked out from under his arms. “Time’s up, come on,” he said, then lowered his voice to add, “We’ll continue this later.”

Lorenzo smirked at him. “My place?”

“Obviously, unless you want Maddalena sticking her nose in our business.”

“This whole ‘secret relationship’ thing is exhausting,” Lorenzo remarked. “Sexy, but exhausting. No wonder it killed Romeo and Juliet after, like, two days.”

“You’re such a drama queen,” Francesco said, but he was smiling.

* * *

**February 14 th**

Francesco had spent the entire day mocking all the Valentine’s Day gifts that were coming in to the other employees of the Pazzi bank, so needless to say he was taken aback when a giant bouquet of roses was delivered to his own office. While Giovanni and Antonia were in there having lunch with him.

Only a few of the Pazzi siblings had gone into the family business. Francesco was the one who was really passionate about banking, so he’d taken over as president after Jacopo’s death, but Antonia was a financial analyst and Celesta was currently at university working on an accounting degree. Giovanni, meanwhile, was shit at finance but great at schmoozing clients, which was Francesco’s most hated part of the job, so he kept him around.

(Giovanni had schmoozed Beatrice Borromei, the richest woman in Florence, so hard that they were now dating, but he’d secured her account first, which was all Francesco cared about. As long as Giovanni stayed with her forever so she wouldn’t take her business elsewhere as revenge for a breakup.)

So Giovanni had his uses, but Francesco really wished anyone other than him had been present for the delivery of the flowers. “Who’s _this_ from?” Giovanni said, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face.

“I don’t know,” Francesco lied, trying to look confused rather than mortified. (Or pleased, because as much as he claimed to hate Valentine’s Day, receiving roses from his boyfriend still made him feel all gooey inside. He was only human, okay?)

“I can’t believe you’ve had a secret girlfriend this whole time and kept it from us, you sneaky little bastard,” Giovanni said, grabbing the roses out of the delivery person’s hands before Francesco had the chance.

Francesco scoffed. “Secret girlfriend? You’re delusional.”

“What’s wrong with her? Is she a teenager? Is she a senior citizen?”

“Don’t tease him, Giovanni,” Antonia said, but she was also examining the roses with great interest.

“Aha!” Giovanni said, pulling a card off. “Let’s see who—it’s blank?” He tossed it aside in disgust. “Why the fuck would you bother sending a blank card?”

“It must be a secret admirer, then,” Antonia said. “Someone who didn’t want Francesco to know who it was from.”

“Or they just delivered them to the wrong person,” Francesco said.

“The delivery dude literally said they were for Francesco Pazzi, president of the Pazzi bank,” said Giovanni, who had dropped the flowers on Francesco’s desk and was now typing away furiously on his phone.

That was worrying. “What are you doing?”

“Telling everyone else about the flowers so they’ll harass you into telling us about your secret girlfriend, duh.”

Francesco groaned. “I don’t have a secret girlfriend, okay?” Technically the truth. “Just drop it.”

He felt his phone start buzzing frantically, no doubt the Pazzi sibling group chat blowing up. He would kill Giovanni if he didn’t need him to talk to clients for him.

“We should get back to work, we’re wasting time,” Antonia said, tugging on Giovanni’s arm.

“I’m glad _someone_ around here has a decent work ethic,” Francesco grumbled.

“But for the record, I think it’s really sweet that someone sent you those flowers,” Antonia added with a smile. “Whoever it is must care about you a lot.” She was being awfully careful to use gender-neutral language, Francesco realized, sweating a little. Did she suspect something?

“Can’t imagine why,” Giovanni said. “Seriously, who would date him? He’s a giant nerd loser who spends all his time with numbers because people don’t like him.”

“Remind me never to recruit you as my wingman,” Francesco said dryly. “Get out, the pair of you, I have a lot of work to do.”

“But—”

“Don’t you have some sappy phone calls to make to Beatrice?” They were even worse than Bianca and Guglielmo, which Francesco wouldn’t have thought possible, especially for two people who were so sappiness-averse separately.

“Bold of you to assume I haven’t already called her three times today to tell her I love her,” Giovanni said, and Francesco and Antonia both gagged. _“And_ sent her roses that would put yours to shame.”

Francesco picked the bouquet up off his desk to finally have a good look at it. They had to be the dozen most perfect roses on the planet. “I think these are just fine,” he said, smiling down at them.

“Oh God, he’s in _love,”_ Giovanni said. “Disgusting.”

“You’re one to talk,” Antonia replied.

Francesco quickly tried to straighten his face out into a neutral expression. “Just because I appreciate the quality of the flowers doesn’t mean I wanted to receive them or have any idea who they’re from,” he said to keep his cover.

At last he got them out the door, which he firmly shut before going to pick up the “blank” card Giovanni had thrown on the floor. Francesco smiled as he felt crayon texture, just as he’d expected.

He rummaged around on his desk for a highlighter and started coloring to reveal the message. _Happy Valentine’s Day Francesco! Love, your boyfriend Lorenzo._

* * *

**April**

Francesco closed his eyes and let utter contentment and relaxation wash over him, savoring the warmth of Lorenzo’s arms around him, his chest pressed against Francesco’s back. Lorenzo was brushing lazy kisses across his shoulder and neck, and his fingers were absentmindedly tracing meaningless shapes on his side.

It was one of the rare Saturday mornings when Francesco had allowed himself to stay overnight at Lorenzo’s apartment. Maddalena was eighteen and responsible, so he was fine with leaving her home alone for a night every now and then, and he didn’t mind her making fun of his “walk of shame” the next morning as long as she didn’t figure out it was Lorenzo he’d spent the night with. He just tried not to do it too often so that she’d think he was having sporadic one-night stands rather than actually seeing someone.

“I wish we could have this every weekend,” Lorenzo said, his warm breath tickling the back of Francesco’s neck.

There was no bitterness or accusation in his tone, but Francesco still felt a stab of guilt. It was his fault that they couldn’t. He was the one forcing them to hide their relationship. He rolled over to face Lorenzo, and apparently some of his guilt showed on his face, because Lorenzo gave him a soft _don’t worry about it_ smile and leaned in to kiss him gently.

Gently at first, anyway, but within a few minutes things were heating up. “What do you think?” Lorenzo asked, playing with the hem of Francesco’s T-shirt. “Did I tire you out too much last night?”

“Oh, I think I could survive one more round,” Francesco said with a smirk, and Lorenzo grinned back and pulled his own shirt off over his head before going for Francesco’s.

He’d just gotten Francesco’s pajama pants off when Francesco’s phone buzzed on the bedside table. Francesco picked it up disinterestedly, intending to silence it, but his brow furrowed when he saw it was Celesta calling. She was down in Rome at university, what would she be calling him for? Had something happened?

He sat up and answered. “Hey, what’s up?” he asked, elbowing Lorenzo to make him stop trying to give him a handjob while he was on the phone.

“Oh, it’s not a big deal, and I know you’re probably busy,” Celesta said. “It’s just that you were supposed to pick me up at the train station an hour ago, but it’s okay, you must be in the middle of something or stuck in traffic or—”

Right, she was coming home for the weekend and Francesco had promised to get her because the rest of their siblings were all busy this morning. “Fuck, I totally forgot,” he said, feeling like the worst brother in the world. “I’m so sorry, I’ll be right there—”

“No, no, it’s okay, really,” Celesta insisted. “I only called to let you know I’m going to take the bus, so you don’t need to come after all.”

Celesta lived in fear of inconveniencing anybody, so Francesco figured he’d better verify the truth of that statement. “Are you already _on_ the bus?” he pressed. “Like, you’re inside it right now as we speak?”

“Well, no,” Celesta admitted. “But the one I would take was supposed to be here half an hour ago, so I’m sure it’ll arrive any minute now—or I’ll walk, it’s only a few miles—”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m coming,” Francesco said firmly. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Isn’t it twenty from your place? The bus will be here by then. Probably.”

“Oh, um, I’m out running errands not far from the train station,” he fibbed. “And who knows when the bus will show up, you know how unreliable they can be. I’ll get you.”

“Okay, if you’re _sure_ it’s not an inconvenience,” Celesta relented. “Sorry.”

“I’m the one who should be sorry,” Francesco said. “I’m on my way.”

He hung up and started getting dressed. “You’re leaving?” Lorenzo said, pouting.

“I’m sorry, I forgot I’d promised to pick Celesta up.” Francesco gave him a quick kiss to console him. “I’ll come back once I’ve dropped her off at Antonia’s, and we can spend a few more hours together before I have to get home. Okay?”

“All right,” Lorenzo said with a dramatic sigh. “I guess you wouldn’t be the man I love if you weren’t such a devoted brother.”

“I’m not sure abandoning my sister at the train station for an hour because I was off getting laid counts as ‘devoted,’ but I appreciate you saying so.”

* * *

**May**

“It’s been ages since we got to see each other,” Lorenzo was whining on the other end of the phone.

“I know,” Francesco said, stretched out on his bed and talking quietly to prevent Maddalena from overhearing anything suspicious. “This weekend, I promise. I’ll spend all of Saturday with you.”

“Overnight?” Lorenzo said hopefully. “Please?”

Francesco smiled. “I think I can manage that.”

They chatted for a little while longer before falling into a comfortable silence. “What are you wearing?” Lorenzo asked eventually.

Right from his tone Francesco knew where this was headed. “Clothes, and Maddalena’s home, we are not doing this right now,” he protested even as heat sparked in his stomach. It _had_ been a couple weeks, and Maddalena _did_ usually have her headphones in to listen to music while she did homework…

“So that means _you_ have to be quiet. But I don’t,” Lorenzo wheedled. “There’s nothing stopping me from describing all the things I wish I could be doing to you right now.”

And at Francesco’s “oh, go on, then,” he proceeded to do so in very great detail. Francesco was glad to have an excuse not to say anything himself—he was awful at dirty talk—and instead he just closed his eyes and focused on Lorenzo’s smooth voice and the gradual pleasure building and building—

A loud knock suddenly sounded on the door, and Francesco managed to dive under the covers, pull them up to his chin, and hang up on Lorenzo just in the nick of time as Maddalena pushed the door open without waiting for permission. She _always_ did that, what was the point of knocking if you weren’t even going to wait for a response?

“Hey, I need help with my—what the hell, are you sick?” Maddalena said, taking one of her headphones out and frowning at him.

“No,” Francesco said.

“Then why are you already in bed under all the blankets at six o’clock?”

“Uh. I was cold.”

Maddalena raised her eyebrows. “It’s May. You’re definitely sick,” she said. “You’re all flushed too, do you have a fever or something?”

“I’m not sick,” Francesco said impatiently. “What did you need?”

“Help with my math homework, but not if you’re going to contaminate me with germs,” Maddalena said, wrinkling her nose.

“I’m not sick, for the thousandth time,” Francesco said. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Maddalena nodded and left, rudely leaving the door wide open. “And close the door, would you?” Francesco called after her, making her heave a theatrical sigh and come back to slam it shut.

He picked up his phone to find several texts from Lorenzo asking if he’d just been kidnapped and had his phone smashed. Everywhere Francesco went he was surrounded by drama queens. _Sorry Maddalena came into my room,_ he replied. _She didn’t see anything though. Just barely._

_Oh my God,_ Lorenzo said, followed by several laughing emojis, which Francesco didn’t think was the appropriate reaction. Then: _Is the coast clear to continue where we left off?_ Winking emoji and a bunch of different hand signal emojis whose meaning Francesco didn’t even want to know.

_Weirdly enough, I’m not in the mood anymore,_ he replied. _I have to go help her with homework anyway._

Lorenzo sent a string of crying and broken heart emojis. _Ugh your siblings are so homophobic._

_?_

_I’m bi and they inconvenience me._

* * *

**June**

Francesco _thought_ it was a relatively secluded area of the park, which was the only reason he’d allowed Lorenzo to lie across the bench with his head in his lap. “You look pretty from this angle,” Lorenzo said, gazing up at him as Francesco played with his hair. “Who am I kidding, you look pretty from every angle.”

“I know,” Francesco said smugly, making Lorenzo laugh and turn his head to press a kiss to his palm.

“Lorenzo, Francesco, hi!”

Francesco nearly jumped out of his skin at the familiar voice calling to them, and Lorenzo sat bolt upright and scooched away from him. They both turned to see Bianca and Guglielmo approaching with baby Giovanna in a stroller. Francesco tried to smile back at them rather than looking like a deer caught in the headlights.

“You two were looking awfully cozy,” Bianca remarked when they were close enough to talk at normal volume.

Lorenzo laughed nervously. “Oh, you know me. Always showering my poor touch-starved friend with unwanted physical affection,” he said, throwing an arm around Francesco and pulling him into his side. Francesco did his best to act like this bothered him.

“Keep it up, it’s good for him,” Guglielmo said.

Giovanna was awake and happy-looking, so Francesco lifted her out of the stroller and gave her a kiss, then settled her in his lap as she gurgled at him. “She’s getting so big,” he said, which sent Bianca and Guglielmo on a long tangent about how fast time flies and hopefully distracted them from the fact that they’d witnessed him and Lorenzo cuddling.

They all chatted for a while before Bianca and Guglielmo took Giovanna back and continued on their way. “That was way too close,” Francesco said.

Lorenzo waved a careless hand. “It’s fine, they didn’t suspect anything. I was always so touchy-feely with you even when we were just friends,” he said, which was true and soothed Francesco a little.

Now that the coast was clear, Lorenzo put his arm around him again and pulled him closer to kiss his temple. “You’re so sweet with Giovanna,” he said. “You’re going to be such a good dad someday.”

Francesco snorted, though he was more amused than anything. Lorenzo was _such_ a sap. “Please don’t start telling me you want to have babies with me when we’ve been together five months and no one even knows yet,” he said.

“Okay, I’ll wait until six months,” Lorenzo joked. Then he looked at him more seriously. “And how’s progress on the second part? Have you thought about talking to your siblings soon?”

Francesco shrugged, looking down at his hands as guilt gnawed in his stomach. “I don’t know. I still don’t feel ready,” he said quietly. “I wouldn’t even know how to bring it up. We’re not like your family, we don’t _talk_ about things. Even Elisa and Giovanni who never shut up, they don’t talk about stuff that actually matters. All we know how to do is rag on each other. I can’t remember when, if ever, I’ve had a deep personal conversation with any of them.”

“It’s the trauma-induced emotional repression,” Lorenzo said wisely. “But just because you guys don’t talk about personal things doesn’t mean you can’t. They love you, they value your feelings, and I’m sure they’d do you the courtesy of taking this conversation seriously. Or you could just fire off a text to the group chat or something, coming outs don’t _have_ to be big solemn productions.”

“I know.” Francesco sighed. “I’m sorry, I know it sucks for you that I’m making us hide it for so long—”

“No, don’t apologize,” Lorenzo said, squeezing his shoulder. “I meant to encourage you, not pressure you. I know how scary it is to come out to your family for the first time, and you have twice as many to tell as I did. Take as long as you need to. I’m not going anywhere.”

Francesco looked back up at him and gave him a grateful smile. “I love you,” he said.

Lorenzo leaned in to kiss him on the lips. “I love you too.”

* * *

**July 1 st**

Lorenzo held his glass up for a toast. “Happy six-month anniversary,” he said, gazing adoringly at Francesco. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Francesco said, smiling back and clinking his glass against his.

They chatted about their respective weeks as they cut into their food, which was delicious. Their date nights usually consisted of hanging out at Lorenzo’s place with takeout or a meal they’d cooked together, but since it was a special occasion, they’d decided to treat themselves to a sit-down dinner at a nice restaurant. It was definitely worth the risk, Francesco thought appreciatively as he ate. And it wasn’t like they were going to run into anyone they knew here anyway.

“Hey, Francesco!”

Francesco almost choked on his food. He looked over and saw, to his utter horror, that Elisabetta was approaching with her boyfriend Piero in tow, clearly in the middle of their own date night. “And Lorenzo too, hi!” Elisabetta said when they were in front of their table. “I’m surprised to see you guys here, this doesn’t seem like your scene.”

Francesco was going to throw up. “Um…”

Elisabetta gasped and clapped her hands together. “Oh my God, you’re on a cute little friend-date!” she exclaimed. “That’s so sweet! I should totally do this with my friends.”

Francesco internally sighed in relief. Bullet dodged. He’d never been so grateful for heteronormativity.

“Yes. I’m here in a suit at a table for two in a fancy restaurant, sharing a bottle of wine with my dear friend,” Lorenzo deadpanned.

Francesco kicked him under the table, making him whine. “That’s exactly it,” Francesco told Elisabetta. “We’re both awful cooks, so we thought it would be fun to go out and eat something nice for a change.”

Piero was smirking at them, clearly aware of what was actually going on. Francesco gave him what he hoped was a _please be a bro and don’t blow my cover_ look.

“Look at you all dressed up,” Elisabetta was cooing as if Francesco was five rather than twenty-five. She reached over and ruffled his perfectly-gelled hair, making Francesco scowl and bat her hand away. To Lorenzo and Piero, she added, “He _was_ one of the only ones who liked playing dress-up with me when we were little. When he was a toddler he’d happily let me dress him up in my princess dresses for our tea parties. They were way too big on him, it was the cutest thing ever.”

Lorenzo started laughing, and Francesco groaned, his face feeling as hot as the surface of the sun. Trust one of his sisters to singlehandedly embarrass him on his anniversary date without even knowing it was an anniversary date. “Fuck off, Elisa, I was _trying_ to have a relaxing, sibling-free night for once,” he complained.

Elisabetta held up her hands in defeat. “All right, all right, we’re starving anyway,” she said. “Have fun!”

They walked away to their own table without further ado. “I’m totally texting all your older siblings later to ask if any of them have photographic evidence of those tea parties,” Lorenzo said, still smirking.

“I hate you so much,” Francesco said.

“Anyway, I can’t _believe_ she seriously thinks this—” Lorenzo gave a general wave to indicate their current situation. “—is a _friend-date._ I’m just. I don’t know what to say.”

Francesco shook his head. “Thank God she’s so painfully straight. If that had been Camilla, we’d be fucked.”

* * *

Camilla was a lesbian and had been out for ten years, and Lorenzo had never understood why Francesco hadn’t come out at least to her yet, if not the others too since they were all clearly cool with having a gay sibling. “Why wasn’t she the first person you turned to as a baby gay?” he’d asked one day a couple weeks into their relationship.

Francesco had wrinkled his nose. “Please never say the phrase ‘baby gay’ again, especially not in reference to me.”

“Well, it’s _true._ Teenage baby gay Francesco had an experienced gay older sister to talk to about it, why didn’t you?”

“Because it’s _Camilla._ She’s terrifying,” Francesco had said.

_“I_ think so, but she’s your sister,” Lorenzo had replied. “Surely _you_ can’t be scared of her.”

“Hell yeah I am. She had to give me the sex talk because Guglielmo chickened out, and she told me she’d cut my dick off if I ever tried to do anything to a girl against her will. Permanently scared me out of breathing a word about dating matters to her.”

“Good for her.”

“I was ten!”

Lorenzo had laughed. “Well, clearly the lesson stuck in your mind, so I’d say her teaching methods were effective,” he’d said. Then he’d smirked and pulled Francesco to sit in his lap, pressing a kiss to his neck. “Good thing too. I happen to like your dick exactly where it is.”

Francesco had rolled his eyes. “I can’t hold a conversation with you for five minutes without you turning it sexual.”

“It’s a special talent.”

* * *

Now, Francesco was sitting on Camilla’s couch, the two of them sipping wine in awkward silence. Francesco had been suspicious when she’d invited him to hang out at her place one-on-one, but she’d insisted she just hadn’t seen him much lately and wanted to catch up. Bullshit if he’d ever heard it. Camilla hated catching up almost as much as he did.

“Hey,” she said, breaking the silence. “You know that you can, like. Uh. Talk to me or whatever.”

“What?” Francesco said.

“You know.” Camilla looked like every word was costing her a year of her life. “If there’s ever, like, something going on in your life that you want to talk about. Or whatever.”

Francesco narrowed his eyes. Either she’d been kidnapped by aliens and replaced by an emotionally healthy clone, or she suspected something about him and Lorenzo. Regardless, she _was_ handing him the perfect opening right on a silver platter…

But if—when, he definitely meant when, he came out to his siblings and told them about Lorenzo, he wanted it to be a time he’d planned on in advance so that he could prepare what to say. He wasn’t ready right now, he was caught too off-guard.

So he gave her his best _what the fuck_ look and said, “Ew, stop being weird. You sound like Guglielmo.”

Camilla gasped in indignation. “You take that back right now!”

They descended into bickering, and the initial conversation was promptly forgotten.

* * *

**Mid-July**

Maddalena was going to a friend’s house on Saturday, so Francesco and Lorenzo were able to hang out at Francesco’s apartment for once. Lorenzo insisted he didn’t mind, but Francesco felt bad freeloading off his roommate-less apartment all the time and always jumped at the rare chance to host Lorenzo at his place instead.

Lorenzo came over before Maddalena left under the pretext that he and Francesco were having a platonic friend hangout while she was gone. “I’ll probably be out most of the day,” Maddalena told Francesco. “I’ll text you when I’m on my way home.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Francesco said. “I’m just around all day, it doesn’t matter to me when you get back.”

“Well, still. I’ll text you,” Maddalena said with a glance at Lorenzo that made Francesco nervous.

But she didn’t say anything else, so Francesco let her go without protest. It was probably his overactive imagination and guilty conscience.

He and Lorenzo made excellent use of the empty apartment—or at least they did until they heard a key scraping in the lock twenty minutes later. “Shit, that liar’s back already!” Francesco hissed in a panic, shoving Lorenzo and his clothes into the closet and slamming the door on his complaints, then running around getting dressed at the speed of light.

Fortunately Francesco had had the foresight to shut his bedroom door just in case, so he had extra time as someone out in the living room hollered, “Hello? Anyone home?”

That was Caterina, not Maddalena, he realized in bewilderment. What the hell did she want, and why had he ever thought it was a good idea to give all his siblings keys to his place?

She pounded on his bedroom door. “Francesco! You there?”

Francesco finished buttoning his jeans (with some difficulty), then pulled on his shirt and yanked the door open just far enough to stick his head out and glare at her. “What do you want?” he snapped.

“Maddalena stole my favorite jeans last time she was at my place, the bitch. Why are you so pissy?” Caterina said. She took in his face and upper torso more closely and raised an eyebrow. “And red? And out of breath? With your shirt on inside-out? Did I interrupt something?”

“No,” Francesco stammered, but Caterina was already peering over his shoulder looking for another person. Francesco turned around and winced at the very rumpled bedsheets and the bottle of lube sitting right in view on the bedside table. Probably would’ve been less embarrassing if he _had_ just let her see that Lorenzo was with him.

“Oh, gross, dude,” Caterina said, looking like she was torn between disgust and laughter.

Mortified, Francesco scowled harder. “Go fuck yourself.”

“I’ll be quick so you can get back to doing that very thing.”

She rummaged around in Maddalena’s room for ages looking for the stupid jeans, but at last she found them and left. Francesco flipped her off as she went, and she returned the gesture enthusiastically.

“Look. You know I love you,” Lorenzo said when Francesco let him out of the closet (the irony wasn’t lost on him). “But this is getting ridiculous.”

* * *

Francesco knew he was right, so the next weekend, he steeled himself and finally summoned all his siblings over to his apartment for a Sibling Conclave.

Sibling Conclaves were rare, seeing as it was a giant hassle to line up all nine schedules on short notice, and they were usually only used for major announcements such as Camilla coming out and Guglielmo telling them he was going to propose to Bianca. (Why he would tell all of them ahead of time and risk someone spilling the beans to Bianca too soon, Francesco still didn’t understand. He wouldn’t be surprised if someone _had_ spilled the beans and Bianca had just pretended to be surprised.)

Thus, everyone arrived at Francesco’s apartment unusually quiet and ready to listen to whatever he had to say. “Okay,” Francesco said once they were all seated (several on the floor since he didn’t have enough couches or chairs for nine people). “So. There’s something important that I want to talk to you all about.”

“Duh, that’s why we’re here,” Maddalena said, clearly annoyed at having to make time for this in her busy summer schedule of doing nothing. “Just spit it out.”

“Okay.” Francesco clasped his hands tightly in his lap so the others wouldn’t see that they were shaking. “Um. The thing is. I…” He took a deep breath. “I’m kind of seeing someone.”

He’d expected surprise and questions. What he got was a muddled chorus of: “Lorenzo, obviously” “Lorenzo de’ Medici” “Yeah, it’s Lorenzo” and other similar sentiments.

Francesco’s jaw dropped. “You—what? How did you know?” he demanded. “We’ve been so careful about hiding it—”

Caterina laughed. “Are you shitting me?” she said. “That has to be a joke, right?”

“Yeah, you guys have been painfully obvious,” Guglielmo added apologetically.

Francesco looked around at them incredulously and saw that every single one of them was utterly unsurprised—except Elisabetta, who was gaping at him. “What do you mean, you’re seeing Lorenzo?” she said. “You mean you’re _dating?_ You and Lorenzo?! I thought you were just friends! Since when are you gay?”

“Bi, and presumably since my birth,” Francesco said.

“Elisa, you seriously thought he was straight this whole time?” Camilla was saying.

Elisabetta turned to her. “You mean you knew he wasn’t this whole time? Was I the last to know?!”

“No, you’re not, because I’ve never told any of you until right now,” Francesco said. “I don’t know how they all figured it out—”

“Oh please, when you were a teenager you kept stealing my eyeliner and wearing it to school every day thinking I wouldn’t notice,” Camilla informed him. “Did you really expect me to believe you were straight after that?”

Francesco coughed, embarrassed. “Okay, well, now you’re just stereotyping.”

“It’s totally Elisa’s fault for making him wear princess dresses so much when he was little,” Caterina said, snickering.

“Oh my God, Caterina! That’s so offensive!” Elisabetta exclaimed. She looked to Francesco for confirmation. “Right?”

“Yes, but whatever,” Francesco said impatiently, not wanting to get off track when he still had so many questions. “Anyway. How did you all figure it out about Lorenzo specifically? We never did anything romantic when other people were around.”

“It was a group effort,” Antonia said. “Giovanni and I started it by telling everyone about the Valentine’s Day flowers, that was the first sign that you were dating someone—”

“And you’ve been _smiling_ so much lately,” Giovanni added. “It’s unsettling.”

“I mentioned that time you forgot to pick me up at the train,” Celesta chimed in. “It was so unlike you to forget, I figured it was a sign you had something new going on in your life that was making you distracted, and the others agreed.”

“I told them about how Bianca and I saw you and Lorenzo cuddling in the park a month ago,” Guglielmo said. “That was our first clue that he was the person you were dating.”

“Plus Lorenzo’s, like, the only person in the world besides us whose presence you don’t hate,” Giovanni said. “So he seemed like a likely candidate.”

“Then I, at great cost to my personal comfort and wellbeing, sat you down and tried to coax you into confiding in me, one queer sibling to another,” Camilla said in a long-suffering tone. “You didn’t, stubborn bastard, but you looked so anxious that I knew we were onto something.”

“And obviously you remember that I walked in on you guys banging last weekend,” Caterina said, making Francesco blush. “But I didn’t know it until I left your apartment and realized Lorenzo’s car was right outside, which meant he must’ve been somewhere in your room with you.”

“They’re all amateurs. I figured it out, like, one week into your relationship,” Maddalena said smugly. “You call Lorenzo every fucking night to tell him you love him, which is soooo cringey—”

_“He_ calls _me,”_ Francesco said defensively at the snickers that broke out. “He’s the cringey one, I’m _not_ cringey.”

“—and you delude yourself into thinking I can’t hear from the other side of the very thin wall between our rooms,” Maddalena finished. “I just kept it to myself for a few months before telling the group text ’cause it was funny watching those idiots try to figure it out.”

“What group text?” Francesco and Elisabetta said in unison.

“Our group text without Francesco dedicated to uncovering the identity of his mystery lover, obviously,” Giovanni said.

“I’m not in that group text!” Elisabetta said indignantly.

The other seven pulled their own phones out to check. “Oh my God, we forgot to add you,” Caterina said with a cackle. “No wonder you were so uncharacteristically quiet for all these months.”

“I hate you all!”

“Okay,” Francesco said. “So obviously you all know everything and…you’re cool with it?”

“Why wouldn’t we be?” Antonia asked. “Lorenzo’s cool, we all like him.”

Camilla nodded. “Yeah, thank God it’s him and not Giuliano.”

Francesco was already too emotionally overwhelmed to have space to be offended that Camilla could even suggest the idea of him being into Giuliano. “I don’t know, I just thought…” he said. “Well, he’s a guy, so I wasn’t sure…”

“Oh, come on, Francesco,” Caterina scoffed. “There’s been a horde of women trooping in and out of Camilla’s apartment for the past ten years and you still thought we’d be weird about you liking guys?”

“I don’t know,” Francesco said again. “I don’t know, I just…”

“Aww, he’s trembling,” Elisabetta said, but her tone was sympathetic rather than mocking.

Francesco tried to stop trembling. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, staring down at his hands. “I knew it was stupid to worry, but—I was really nervous.”

Guglielmo was squished next to him on the couch, and he turned to envelop him in a tight hug. Francesco let out a shaky breath and leaned into him gratefully. “I can’t blame you for being nervous. It must feel like a huge thing to share with all of us, even if you knew we’d react well,” Guglielmo said. “But you’re our brother and we love you. There’s nothing you could ever do to make us not love you. So yeah. We’re all cool with it.” He kissed the top of Francesco’s head. “Not just cool with it, we’re happy about it. We’re so happy that Lorenzo makes you happy.”

Francesco sniffled. “Oh,” he managed through the lump in his throat.

“This calls for a group hug!” Elisabetta declared, and she threw herself into it.

Soon Francesco was squished in the middle of all eight of them, and he laughed, feeling so warm and buoyant. He was crying a little too, but they didn’t make fun of him, just hugged him tighter.

They all went back to their seats a minute later, and Elisabetta made Francesco give her a rundown of his and Lorenzo’s entire dating history, gushing “oh, that’s _so_ romantic!” every five seconds while Guglielmo, Antonia, and Celesta listened quietly with smiles and everyone else complained.

It wasn’t until after this interrogation that Francesco suddenly remembered something. “Hang on, Antonia,” he said. “Was Guglielmo’s park story the first time you guessed it was Lorenzo I was dating?”

Antonia looked surprised to be singled out. “Yeah, why?”

“And did you figure out I wasn’t straight before that like Camilla did?”

“No, it never really occurred to me.”

“So then when I got the Valentine’s Day flowers, why were you so careful about referring to the sender in gender-neutral terms?” he asked. “Giovanni kept saying girlfriend, but you didn’t.”

Antonia blushed. “Oh. Well. Um. That was just kind of my own personal habit because I’m actually bi too,” she confessed.

“Now _that,_ I didn’t see coming,” Camilla said, looking thrilled.

Francesco blinked at Antonia in astonishment. “You—why didn’t you say so before when I said it?”

“Well, you were crying and having your whole big moment, and you get so mad when people steal your thunder,” she teased.

Francesco beamed at her and, in a very uncharacteristic move, initiated a hug himself. Antonia laughed sheepishly and patted him on the back. “Group hug number two!” Elisabetta said in delight, and they were both immediately mobbed again.

“Okay, does anyone _else_ need to come out?” Caterina said. “Celesta?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, you’ve never even come close to having a boyfriend, so…”

“Just because she’s not a slut like _you_ are—”

“Hey!”

“You know, I _do_ sometimes find myself watching the guy in porn,” Giovanni said thoughtfully. “What does that mean, Francesco?”

Francesco scrunched his face up in disgust. “I am _not_ talking about this with you.”

“Jesus, is everyone in this family gay?” Maddalena said.

“And/or in love with a Medici. This must be the eternal torment they picked for Uncle down in hell,” Camilla said, and they all burst out laughing.

Giovanni poked Francesco’s shoulder. “Seriously though, Cesco, what does it mean? Francesco?”

* * *

**1 week later**

Lorenzo was sitting next to Francesco on Bianca and Guglielmo’s couch with all eight Pazzi siblings staring him down intimidatingly, even Celesta. “If you ever hurt a single hair on his head,” Camilla said at last, “we will kill you so hard they won’t be able to identify the body. Is that clear?”

Bianca was stifling laughter, no doubt remembering being on the receiving end of this talk herself. Lorenzo, to his credit, was only sweating a little. “Crystal,” he said.

* * *

**December 31 st**

Francesco couldn’t stop smiling as he looked around the Medici’s living room, where Lucrezia, all three Medici kids, and all nine Pazzi were gathered chatting and laughing and teasing each other. Just like old times. It felt healing, almost, like the wound they’d suffered exactly nineteen years ago was finally getting cleaned and stitched up.

He snuggled closer into Lorenzo’s side, and Lorenzo smiled at him and stole a quick kiss. Well, not _quite_ like old times.

“Three…two…one,” everyone chanted. “Happy New Year!”

Lorenzo kept one arm around Francesco but moved the other hand up to cup his cheek as he leaned in and kissed him deeply. “Get a room!” Francesco heard Giuliano yell, though whether it was directed at them or at Bianca and Guglielmo, he didn’t know.

“Happy birthday,” Francesco said when they finally broke apart.

“It’s my birthday too, not that anyone cares,” he heard Maddalena complaining, as if she wasn’t the baby of the family who received everyone’s constant doting attention. Sure enough, the others were quick to soothe her with birthday wishes.

But Francesco kept his attention on Lorenzo for the moment. “Thanks,” Lorenzo was saying. “Happy anniversary.”

Francesco chuckled. “You should’ve picked a different day to declare your love for me, now we have way too many things to celebrate today.”

Lorenzo laughed too. “Well, what better way to start each year?” he said.

And indeed, this and last year were the first times Francesco had actually been happy on New Year’s since he was seven years old; his parents’ death had made it a day of traumatic memories for him. But now, Lorenzo had gently swept those away to put happy memories in their place.

Francesco rested his head on Lorenzo’s shoulder. “Lorenzo,” he said, quietly enough that only Lorenzo could hear underneath Giuliano and Camilla arguing about something while Giovanni and Caterina egged them on.

“Yeah?” Lorenzo said.

“I…” Francesco couldn’t figure out how to put his feelings into words, so he simply said, “I’m happy.”

Lorenzo nuzzled his hair, and Francesco could hear the smile in his voice when he said, “Me too.”


End file.
